


Under the Blanket

by Agasthiya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Sick Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agasthiya/pseuds/Agasthiya
Summary: Sherlock feels guilty for getting the flu on Christmas day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> here is my Secret Santa for Araceli [sussex](susscx.tumblr.com), hope you will like it! ♥
> 
> you can also find me on [tumblr](piecesofbrokenrecollections.tumblr.com)

“Here you go.”

Sherlock takes the glass with a painful sniff as a thank you, and drinks it in one gulp without so much as a grimace. Four days with this medicine, surely he got used to it. He hands the glass back to John and brings the blanket closer to him, curling up on the sofa in a ball that reminds John a bit of a burrito.

A red-nosed, shivering and very grumpy burrito.

Poor thing. A Sherlock Holmes with the flu is far from the easiest thing to deal with–for both parties involved–but this happening at Christmas only makes it worse.

“Do you want to eat something?” John asks, thinking of all the delicious meals Mrs Hudson prepared for them and left in their fridge earlier. Some of them aren't really recommended when you're sick, but Sherlock really needs to eat, now more than ever.

Sherlock shakes his head no.

“A hot drink?”

No, again.

“Is there anything you want or need?”

“What I want is to be able to do more than emptying three tissue boxes a day,” Sherlock replies with a hoarse voice. “Can you help with that?”

“I was only asking. You don't have to be so...”

“So what?”

“Never mind.”

“No, please. Go on.”

“I'm just trying to make all this a little less unbearable for you. I really am trying.”

“What makes it unbearable for me is how unbearable it is for _you_!”

Sherlock's eyes are watery and John suspects it isn't just because of the fever. He frowns.

“What do you mean?”

Sherlock tightens the blanket around him, looking even tinier, and lowers his eyes.

“You love Christmas. And I, too, was looking forward to it, our first Christmas as... husbands.” He blushes. He always blushes when he says this word. And with his fever, he looks even redder than usual.

Even when he's ill, he remains the most beautiful and adorable human being John has ever seen.

“I wanted to go to Christmas markets with you, I wanted to have hot drinks with you, I wanted to eat all those Christmas biscuits Mrs Hudson made, whatever they're called, I wanted to watch those cheesy Christmas films with you, I wanted to... dance with you until we were too tired to stand... I wanted...” Sherlock sniffs and clenches his jaw, looking more and more upset. “I had everything planned. But I didn't plan to catch that stupid, _stupid_ flu.” Sherlock raises his eyes to meet John's. “Please forgive me for ruining your Christmas.”

John doesn't know what to say. How could Sherlock be apologising for being ill? How could he think he ruined John's Christmas? Things didn't go as planned, so what? Nothing in the world would make John want to spend Christmas away from 221B, away from his husband.

Nothing in the world would make John want to spend _any day_ away from him.

He doesn't care about Sherlock being ill because it ruined whatever Christmas plans they had.

He cares about it because seeing Sherlock in pain and so miserable is wrong, heartbreaking, _unbearable_.

John sits down on the couch next to Sherlock and wraps him in his arms, stroking his shoulders and his back and kissing his warm forehead—twice. Sherlock practically yelps.

“John! What are you doing??”

“I'll tell you what I'm going to do: I'm going to get the biscuits Mrs Hudson baked, and make some hot chocolate for both of us, and you're going to make some room for me under that huge blanket of yours so we can watch one of those 'cheesy Christmas films'. And this is non-negotiable.”

“But you shouldn't come too close to me. I'm ill!”

“And you are my husband.” John grins. “While I'm gone, you better think about what film you want to watch.”

Sherlock tries to hide his own grin and fails miserably. “ _Nativity_ ,” he mumbles, his voice just a bit teary.

“ _Nativity_ it is then.” John drops a kiss on Sherlock's nose before leaving the room, Sherlock sneezing softly behind him.


End file.
